Rajasthani Moon

by Lisabet Sarai

  The velvety nap of the rug caressed her skin. Underneath, though, she felt rough, unyielding rock. A faint smoky odour hung in the air, perhaps from past rituals in this holy spot. Wind sighed through the ruins, then died. Now the only sound was her own breathing, fast and shallow.

  Using techniques learnt in the dojo, she made that breath her focus. She pulled air deep into her lungs, slowly, steadily, releasing some of her tension each time she exhaled. Gradually her fear leached away and her arousal subsided to a tickling hum.

  From behind her came a gasp, and low growl. Cecily twisted on her stony couch, in time to see the beast take over.

  Pratan voiced a howl of pain as his back bent double. Shaggy black hair sprouted on his chest and abdomen and marched down his shortening brow. His elegant nose elongated into a furry snout. The lips she had so recently kissed thinned into dark, saliva-flecked jaws lined with yellow, pointed teeth. And the bright, soulful eyes she loved transformed into red-rimmed pits of madness.

  The metamorphosis took only seconds.

  “Growr!” The monster clawed at the collar, obviously enraged at finding himself restrained. His massive cock swung back and forth at his loins like a club.

  “Down!” Amir shouted. “Spread your legs and let him get a whiff of you.”

  She didn’t respond, not at first. Transfixed by terror and pity, she watched as the wolf-man worried the chain. A beast, he still craved his freedom.

  “Lie down, damn it!”

  This time she obeyed. Her heart racing like a locomotive, she stretched out once more upon the carpet and elevated her buttocks.

  “Go get her, Pratan.” Static crackled and the wolf roared with pain. Amir had brought an electrified prod to help control the creature. “She’s for you!” The device snapped again. The beast wailed.

  “Spread, Cecily! Wider! Go on. Take her, Pratan. She’s waiting for you. Fuck her virgin ass.”

  Lust and horror washed over her in alternating waves. Cecily squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the worst.

  Leg irons clanking, the beast shuffled towards her. His claws grazed her butt cheeks.

  “That’s right. Open her up.” Crackle! “Grab those fat mounds and ram your cock into her…”

  The wolf pawed her, trailing his talons over her flesh, scratching her but not, she thought, drawing blood—not yet. Leaning in—she felt his hot breath in her crack—he buried his drooling muzzle in her crevice, licking both her pussy and her rear hole.

  It was disgusting and yet arousing. His rough tongue scoured her folds, drinking up the juices that only flowed more copiously as he poked it into her cunny. Her well-exercised back entrance flexed and gaped. Her sessions with Amir had taught her to crave anal penetration when her pussy was stimulated. Rising to her knees, she arched her back to present herself more completely to him. She didn’t think—she simply followed her instincts.

  The monster continued to devour her sex, his teeth raking over her clit and his tongue pushing as deep as an ordinary man’s cock.

  “Fuck her ass!” Amir urged. Cecily wanted to second the command. Before she could react, though, the beast seized her and flipped her onto her back with enough force to drive the breath from her lungs. Her thighs hung open, framing her hot, swollen pussy. The wolf-man grabbed her by the hips and yanked her to the edge of the altar. The carpet left stinging burns on her butt cheeks. She scarcely noticed, humping the air, silently begging him to impale her.

  The creature ran the knob of his cock up the length of cleft, from her anus to her clit, coating himself with her moisture. Then he drove into her—not into her twitching rear hole, but into her cunt.

  Cecily screamed. A bar of molten iron cleft her in two and flaming bliss gushed through the aperture. Her body simply vaporised, leaving nothing but sensation. The wolf pulled out for an instant then rammed her again, sending her spinning into another delirious climax.

  “No! No! Not there, you idiot! Her arse!”

  Dimly, Cecily noted Amir’s protests. She heard the thud as Pratan shook off his frantic brother. He ploughed her, pushing deep, stretching her beyond possibility. The iron scent of blood teased her nostrils, mingling with the beast’s gamey odour, but she felt no pain, only exquisite, near-unbearable pleasure.

  The wolf’s claws bit into her flesh as he held her in position. His thrusts grew ragged and urgent. Cecily knew he was close to spending, and worried, for an instant, about the consequences of possible impregnation, before another orgasm swept all thought away.

  The latest waves of delight subsided. The beast pounded her, hard and fast. She opened her eyes and her gaze met his. To her astonishment, something human flickered in those crazed depths.

  “Pratan…” she moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him deeper into her body. His coarse fur chafed her inner thighs but she gripped tight, urging him over the edge.

  Time slowed. The light in the beast’s eyes grew stronger. The huge cock stuffed into her quim swelled larger still, and finally, pain tore into her dazed delight. Still she held on, tightening her legs and her cunt around his impossible bulk. “Come, Pratan,” she whispered as they rocked together. “Come inside me.”

  Sudden thunder rent the night. Lightning stitched the blackness above them, and for an instant, the moon paled. The wolf-man howled at the broken sky and exploded, his spunk searing her battered flesh.

  With each jerk of his hips, each gush of cum, his monstrous penis shrank. His talons retracted. The fur retreated from his cheeks and brow. His fearsome, toothy maw dwindled and his lips regained their sleek plumpness. In a handful of seconds, the wolf was gone. In his place was the rakish bandit-prince, still pumping his hips and spurting in her cunny.

  When his spasms finally died away, Pratan bent to kiss her. She tasted her own juices on his tongue. “I think you did it, Cecily. You’ve freed me. Thank you…”

  Joy bubbled in her chest. She hugged him close and nibbled his ear. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

  He raised himself on his arms and smiled down at her. “I feel…different. In the past, I had this constant sense of internal pressure. As though something was boiling and threatening to overflow. Those feelings were much stronger with you around. Now, though, they’re gone.”

  “But the verses—you didn’t take my arse, and I’m certainly no virgin elsewhere!”

  “Magic is tricky. You know that. Sometimes it’s amazingly literal. The counter-spell didn’t actually specify that the wolf needed to penetrate the virgin orifice.”

  With impressive care, he extricated his half-hard cock from her depths. He stood up with some difficulty. “My muscles are stiff. And my cock feels as though it’s been assaulted with a coconut grater. But how are you, Cecily? You’re bleeding!” He surveyed her prone form and she realised how many different ways she hurt. The concern she saw in his face was remarkably effective in assuaging that pain.

  She swiped her hand through her soaked pussy, then peered at the result. “Only a little. I’ll be fine. ‘Blood and seed’, the verses said.”

  “Right.” Embarrassment made him look a decade younger.

  Cecily beamed him a reassuring smile. “Don’t be concerned, Pratan. I’m tough. Don’t forget my training.”

  “And did that include being ravished by monsters?” He reached out a hand. “Can you sit up?”

  “I think so.”

  Pratan assisted her to a sitting position, then settled himself beside her, his arm around her shoulder. She huddled against him, shivering. Now that their trial was over, she felt as weak as a baby.

  “You’re cold. Let me get your clothes… Damn it, I forgot about the collar and the irons. Where’s my blasted brother? Amir?”

  The Rajah lay a few feet from the altar. Cecily slid to her knees by the man’s side, stifling a groan as her muscles protested. “He’s breathing, but not conscious.” She shook the prone body gently. “Your Highness? Amir?”

  “Ugh…uh…” The Rajah’s eyes fluttered o
pen. It took several seconds for them to focus. “Cecily? You’re all right? What happened?”

  “Give the command to loose these fiendish bonds of yours. And toss me the key to the leg cuffs. Then perhaps we’ll tell you.”

  “Pratan!”

  “The collar, please!”

  “Right, right. Unbind.” The prince pulled off the collar and tossed it aside.

  “Here’s the key.” Pratan caught the iron key his brother threw and bent to unfasten the shackles.

  As soon as Pratan was free, he headed for the oxcart that had brought them to the summit to retrieve Cecily’s clothing. He assisted her in getting dressed, while Amir watched from a half-sitting position, rubbing the back of his head. “I’ve got a lump the size of a duck egg,” he complained.

  “Too bad. You should have known better than to interfere.”

  “But… You weren’t… You were supposed to take her in the ass.”

  “Apparently that was not necessary.” Pratan grinned down at his brother, then helped him to his feet.

  “So you’re cured?”

  “I believe so—thanks to Cecily.”

  The Rajah turned to her with a graceful bow. “Miss Harrowsmith, thank you. I am in your debt.”

  Pratan lifted her in his strong arms, and, with astonishing tenderness, placed her in the cart. Cecily favoured them with her sweetest smile.

  “Have no fear. I intend to make very sure that you keep your part of the bargain.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Where are they?

  Cecily paced the waiting area at the aeroplatform on the roof of Mehrangarh Fort, wondering what had delayed Pratan and Amir. She recognised that her impatience stemmed primarily from anxiety. Yes, she was eager for the revelation the Rajah had promised—the mysterious source of the kingdom’s energy—but she would have far preferred to travel overland than take to the skies. After all she’d endured, she still found the notion of flying quite terrifying.

  Amir had insisted there was no alternative. “The oil fields are hundreds of miles from here, more than a day’s journey even in your fleet carriage. Furthermore, you cannot fully appreciate them from the ground.”

  “Oil? So you’ve discovered and developed deposits of petroleum?” Her Majesty’s wells in the Canadian colonies produced sufficient kerosene for the entire Empire, but use of the dirty and expensive fuel had declined dramatically since the discovery of viridium.

  “Patience, Miss Harrowsmith.” As was his habit, the Rajah had given her nipple a pinch, triggering brief agony followed by more extended bliss and leading Cecily to curse her excessive responsiveness. “You will see for yourself very soon.”

  She glanced up at the cloudless sky. The voyage could not be over soon enough to suit her.

  Today’s weather was predicted to be perfect for a dirigible trip, clear and bright with steady northwest winds but little chance of turbulence. Their vehicle floated above her. The gas bag was as colourful as everything in Rajasthan, gaily striped in peacock blue and flaming orange. The open gondola—painted lime green—that swung beneath appeared to be fashioned from woven rattan, but Pratan had assured her that the structure was reinforced with steel, as were the cables from which it hung.

  She had confessed her fears to the prince when she’d learnt they’d travel by air. He’d gathered her into his arms and murmured soothing words about the safety of the dirigible and its sedate behaviour. “It’s not as though we’ll be travelling by copter. Those zip about so rapidly, even I occasionally worry. A dirigible journey, though, is smooth and steady, like drifting along on a calm river. You scarcely know you’re moving.”

  “I shall know,” Cecily insisted. “I’ll never be comfortable, when I’m aware we’re hundreds of feet above the ground. That unfavourable winds could sweep us out to sea or crush us like an eggshell against the side of some mountain.”

  “The sea lies nearly a thousand miles to the west, and there are few peaks between here and Sri Ganganagar. Relax, lady. I’ll take care of you, I guarantee. I’ll make certain that you totally forget to be frightened.”

  He had proceeded to make good on his promise. For the next few hours, at least, all thoughts of fear had evaporated in the heat of their mutual passion.

  If he’d only show up now—perhaps she’d feel less threatened by the garish, gas-filled ellipsoid above her, straining against its moorings.

  Trying to distract herself, she reviewed the startling events of the past week.

  After the moonlight ritual, she’d slept for fourteen hours. Pratan had awakened her with a welcome kiss and a variety of news. They were to return to Jaipur the next morning. The Rajah had received an official communication from the Empire, inquiring as to the whereabouts and safety of a diplomatic envoy named Cecily Harrowsmith. Meanwhile Sarita had reported that she was with child and was planning to return to her father’s court in Maharashta for her confinement. Amir had commanded her to stay, but, for the first time in their experience, she’d refused to obey him.

  “My brother is beside himself,” the prince had added with a wry chuckle. “She has refused to see him, supposedly concerned that his sometimes rough attentions might injure the baby. Apparently she has decided that, since there’s no legal bond between the two of them, he has no rights to her body.”

  “Perhaps it’s a positive development. Amir needs to learn that he cannot have everything he wants.”

  “But he usually does get what he wants. One way or another.”

  The Rajah had stormed around the palace for two days, smashing crockery and terrorising the servants. Cecily and Pratan had stayed out of his way—spending much of the time together in Pratan’s bed. On the third day, Amir had announced that he and Sarita planned to marry within a fortnight. To celebrate, he’d ‘invited’ Pratan and Cecily to join him and his fiancée in his playroom for the evening. As usual, the experience had been a bewildering mixture of pain and delight, but Cecily had detected an undercurrent of tenderness in the demeanour of both brothers, a development that pleased her more than she cared to admit.

  As though conjured by her recollections, the two men stepped onto the roof. Each looked devastatingly handsome, in his own way—Amir refined and graceful, with a purple robe open to the waist and diamonds glittering in his earlobes—Pratan, still with an edge of wildness despite the departure of the beast, his long hair tangling in the breeze and sensual mouth always ready to devour her. She recalled studying their portraits, early in her journey, and tried to recapture her initial reactions. They’d been strangers then. And now? It was difficult to say exactly how they fitted into her life, but she knew both of them better than she could ever have anticipated.

  “Ah, you’re already here, Miss Harrowsmith.” Despite all their intimacies, Amir still enjoyed adopting the formal mode of address with her. Cecily was embarrassed by the way his mocking tone made her wet. “So eager.”

  “Eager to fulfil my mission, Your Highness.” Two could play at this game. “After all this time, I should hate to return to England empty-handed. Once Her Majesty understands Rajasthan’s superior technology, I suspect that she will be quick to recognise the benefits of a more equal alliance.”

  “Indeed. Well, today we open our secrets to you, as I promised. We trust that you will use them wisely.” The Rajah turned to his brother. “If you’d help our guest into the basket…”

  Cecily swallowed hard, fighting panic. She could do this. After everything she’d been through, this ought to be child’s play. Nevertheless, her limbs trembled as Pratan escorted her to the bamboo ladder leading up into the gondola.

  The prince practically had to pick her up to get her aboard. “Do not fear,” he whispered. “You are in good hands.”

  His touch soothed her a bit. By the time Amir climbed into the basket, she had mastered most signs of her fright.

  The passenger compartment was about ten feet long. Its walls were chest height. A canopy shaded one end, including the brass and quartz crystal cont
rol panel. The other was open to the sky, though the gas bag a dozen feet above them shielded them from the most direct rays of the sun. She was not surprised to discover that the floor was covered by multiple layers of intricately-patterned carpets and strewn with fat, multi-hued pillows. The Rajasthanis seemed to have little use for furniture.

  Amir busied himself at the controls while Pratan lounged on the cushions, looking rakish and indolent. “Come here, Cecily,” he ordered. “Sometimes the take-off is a bit bumpy.”

  Her heartbeat accelerated and her palms started to sweat at this reminder of what lay ahead. She gave him a sharp look. She could have sworn he was suppressing a chuckle.

  Nevertheless, she reclined beside him, as he’d instructed. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and held her tight against his chest. His strength reassured her, but she still felt as though her stomach was turning somersaults.

  A low frequency vibration hummed under them as Amir started the engine.

  “Here we go,” called the Rajah. “Prepare to lift off.”

  “Kiss me,” said Pratan. He took possession of her mouth without waiting for her acquiescence.

  Amir released the tethers binding the dirigible to the roof. They retracted into their housings with a snap and the gondola swayed in reaction, springing upward a few feet. Cecily’s heart climbed into her throat. She gritted her teeth against sudden nausea. Pratan’s agile tongue wormed its way between her lips, urging her to relax and open, and the spell passed. Meanwhile, his hands wandered over her body, pulling her loose clothing out of the way so that he could stroke her breasts and belly.

  His scent enveloped her, sandalwood and smoke superimposed on animal musk. The wolf had not returned since their encounter on Mount Abu, but Pratan still smelt like something feral. He burrowed into her, sucking on her tongue and nibbling her lips, while his fingers teased her nipples into hungry knots. Cecily moaned as the pleasure mounted. She lay back, cradled in the nest of cushions, and allowed him free access.